The wind drifted invisibly across the frozen grass from the bottom of the field and seemed to presage my brother’s death. We were both six years of age and it was three days before Christmas. Our sister must have sat us on the wooden bench and taken her place standing up at one end. The swing would have started off slowly enough and we must have thought it was good fun to begin with - that's what normally happens to children on swings. Then it would have rocked faster and faster, climbed higher and higher. My brother and I would have begun to cry. We would have wanted it to slow down. We must have howled at the tops of our voices for the swing to stop… I remember nearly falling, clinging on to the steel hoop. I remember being scared and thinking I might die. I remember thinking about my mother and wondering why she wasn't there to help us. I remember the laughter. The cold. Praying to God. I remember a voice saying Now I'm going to get you. And the invisible wind. I remember my brother falling off before I did. I remember hitting the ground with a thud. I remember the warm blood dribbling down my face and my father's white features as he raced through the hedge - too late to save us. My sister told him it had been an accident. I wanted to say SHE DID IT ON PURPOSE! but didn't because I was scared.